MrSmith1's picture

    A Wind-Swept Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

     

    Here's this week's heap of haikus:

     

    He buried his fear
    in the pleats of mother's skirt.
    ( ... wiped his nose there too.)

     

     


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     Fear is a fabric
    that folds under stress, and when
    in hot water, shrinks.

     

     

     

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    Stubble on my chin
    Clothes I've worn for two full days ...
    Still sick as a dog.

     

     

     

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    Who would have thought that
    Diana, an Amazon,
    likes to play with girls?

    On the other hand,
    where does that leave Steve Trevor?
    Still tied up in knots.

    She'll lasso a lass,
    while hauling ass ... they'll still say
    she fights like a girl.

     

    ---


     

    She has a smile,
    That can send him to the moon,
    So he makes her laugh.

     

     

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    What he missed the most,
    was her passionate embrace;
    it reassured him.

     

     

     

     

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    My heart's on a train,
    Heading for a distant town,
    while I lie alone.

     

     

     

     

    ---


    tanka haiku:

     

    Can it really be?
    It's National Coffee Day!!
    Do that Java Jive!!

       Brew Joe, don't keep me waitin'
       drip fast, stop percolatin'

    (Thursday, Sept. 29 was National Coffee Day)

     


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    Forget yesterday.
    Survive today and dream of
    brighter tomorrows.

     

     

     

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    So, farewell to thee.
    Thou has stayed beyond the Spring,
    Now, the Sea beckons.

     

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    Sunday afternoon
    we talked, and strolled through the park ...
    others rode horses.

     

     

    ---

     

     

     

    A split rail fence was
    respected in the old West.
    But barbed wire helped.

     

     

     


    ---


     

     

    In a small garden,
    pansies patiently wait for
    roses to be picked.

     

     

     


    ---

     

     

     


    Once you discover,
    You're swimming in Illusions,
    You can float upstream.

     

     

     

     

     

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    You can't always get
    what you want, but if you try,
    you'll get what you need.

     


    ---

     

     

     

     

     

    There is a reason
    for all things and that includes
    orange-haired billionaires.


     

     

    ---


     

    tanka haiku:

    On a corner lot,
    a two-story brick building
    is all that remains.

        Glories of another time,
        too soon reduced to rubble.

     

     

     

     

    ---

     

     

     

    I carve spindles on
    a swiftly turning lathe to
    make new bannisters.

     

     

     

    ---

     

     

     


    Foliage ablaze,
    Vivid reds, orange, yellow!
    Breathtaking beauty.

     

     

     

     

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    Slave to their iPhones,
    Dead-eyed Zombies walk and talk,
    And order lattes.

     

     


    ---

     

     


    Swiftly flows my life,
    days fly by before I know it,
    the future is then

     

     

     

     

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    Will America
    EVER learn from it's mistakes?
    I'm as mad as Hell ...

     

     

     

     

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    Humid autumn night,
    Too muggy for a blanket,
    Too cold for A/C.


     

     

     

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    A pastel sunset,
    occurs behind some buildings.
    I wait for the bus.

     

     

     


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    That babe with the braids
    and the tie-dyed mini-skirt?
    That was your mother.

     

     

     

     

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    As dusk approaches,
    Earth secretly conspires,
    to bring back the light.

     

     

     

    ---

     

     

     

     

    Now all that remains
    are images in my head ...
    and her purple scarf.

     

     

     

     

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    Leaning up against,
    A dilapidated shed,
    a toothless old rake.

     

     


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    Moon behind the clouds,
    fields aglow in bluish light,
    sly foxes prowl.

     

     

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    The world keeps changing
    old friends leave us or retire
    Thanks to all. Godspeed.

    (For Charles Osgood, David Ortiz and the late Arnold Palmer.)


    ---

     

     

    tanka haiku:

     

    You can not end the
    persistence of suffering
    only appease it.


        That it still will annoy us
         is what gives us bright futures.

     

     

    ---

     

     

     

    Is the potato
    a metaphor ... or a plant?
    I bake for tubers.

     

     

     

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    It's too warm to wear
    sweaters and corduroy pants.
    Damn, global warming!

     

     

     

     

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    Swirling embers rise,
    riding a smoky breeze, then
    die, and fall to earth

     

     

     

     

     

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    SNL returns
    "Live from New York" again.
    Generations laugh.

     

     

     

     

     

     

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    A drizz'ly morning's
    walk through a nearby woods, cleared
    his mind of its gloom.

     

     

     


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    When busy swimming,
    you don’t think about drowning.
    So it is with Life.

     

     

     

     

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    triple haiku:

     

    Consistency makes
    unimaginative lives
    seem less vacuous.

    Consistent is not
    a value, it's an action.
    (Erratic is too.)

    Be bold when needed,
    steady when necessary.
     Embrace ups and downs.

     

     

     


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    Immortal souls that
    live in mortal bodies ... That's
    one of God's jokes, right?

     

     


    ---

     

     

     

    The blaze of Autumn
    will soon start to wither and
    gnarly winter bloom.

     

     

    ---

     

     

     

    A quintet of haikus:


    Under a pale sky,
    a man in a hat, sits and
    reads his newspaper.

    As the daylight ebbs,
    the man folds the newspaper,
    gets up, and goes home.

    In the dark of night,
    he lies in bed and ponders
    all that he has learned ...

    and when he awakes,
    he gets up, finds his hat and
    grabs his newspaper.

    The mind's the engine,
    that drives our train of thought. We
    must keep feeding it.

     

     

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    Autumn in New York,
    leaves crackle underfoot as
    I walk through the woods.

     

     

     

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    Sucker-punched by thugs,
    smooched by dames, he fires his gat ...
    (His Life as film noir.)

     

     

     

     

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    The teacher threw a
    book at the sleeping pupil.
    Knowledge can hurt you.

     

     


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    We may never know
    which winds blow thoughts through our minds
    to swirl up our past.
     


     

     

     

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    Fragrant aromas
    awaken sweet thoughts of you,
    my long ago love.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     


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    The trees in our yard
    are reluctant as children
    to let Summer go.

     

     

     


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     Jet vapor trails slice
    through a Maxfield Parrish sky
    of back-lit pink clouds.

     

     

     

     

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    If you choose to use
    a magnifying glass, know
    that you will find flaws
    .

     

     

     

     

     

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    What night ships do you
    sail upon? What adventures
    find you in your dreams?

     

     

     

     

     

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    More later.

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Comments

    MEANDERINGS

    I got sick last week

    Food poisoning or the flu

    What the hell was it?

    Bill Maher is on

    I get a kick out of this

    It is all I got

    PC and TV

    I get no kicks from Champaign

    But I love commenters. 

    hahahaha

    Kaine & Pence are next

    I kind of like Timmy Kaine

    He is a nice man

    And yet my mind turns

    To the leaf colorations

    And my few years left

    How many falls left?

    And how many Rider Cups?

    Or trips to the store?

    Power went out last night

    It lasted less than an hour

    When will my lights dim?

    I should not worry

    About minus twenty F

    Now it is sixty

    Tomorow's not now

    It creeps on a petty pace

    From day to day (ouch!)

    Politics save me

    I ignore the petty pace

    And that's all I got.

    ha

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     


    Oh Mr. Smith, I think I am having problems counting on my fingers. hahahahah

    I love your meanderings today

    But coffee.

    I really do love a good cup of coffee (as close to espresso as I can get).

    Always have and always will.

    More than booze or cigs.

    Which says a lot. hahahahah


    Thanks DD.   Ah Coffee ... Ever since I was a very small child I have loved the smell of coffee.  I remember my dad making coffee in the kitchen of our house on Lostbrook Road in West Hartford, CT.   He would always let me smell the can of coffee.   Coffee was, in those days, as far as I knew, only percolated.  My dad made coffee every morning and he took his coffee with milk or cream, light enough to make the coffee look like caramel.   Maybe that's what made me not like it.  My mind couldn't get past the color and how it didn't taste like caramels.  I had a similar problem eating beets.  I couldn't get past my mind telling me that because they were a certain shade of red, they should taste like cherries.  I have never eaten beets to this day for that reason.  Anyway, when I was little, I didn't care what coffee tasted like, I just loved the smell.  It meant, morning and breakfast and my parents, and happiness.  Other than a sip of my father's coffee with cream, which didn't taste like caramels, I didn't drink coffee when I grew up and went away to college.  I don't know why, maybe it was the times, (I was a freshman in 1968), or the place, (I was raised on Long Island and went to college in Oklahoma City), but I went through college never drinking coffee.  When I had to study, I'd drink tea that I brewed to a fair-thee-well on a hot plate in my dorm room.  Mostly, it just never occurred to me.  When I was a Senior, I was beginning to have some success in being cast in, not only my college productions, but in some well-respected community theaters in Oklahoma City.  The biggest was the Oklahoma Theater Center.  I was cast as Benedict in Much Ado and then later the same year, cast as the Noel Coward part in Private Lives.   It was great fun, but at the dress rehearsal for Private Lives, during the final act, there is a breakfast scene, in which my character says a lot of funny things and, given we were on a 3/4 thrust stage, and quite close to the audience, we had to eat real food, mostly brioches with butter and jam ... and drink coffee.   I hadn't thought anything of it, as we had mimed it all through the rehearsal process.   When we got to the dress rehearsal, suddenly we had real props to deal with, and real food and drink.  As we had a small, invited audience for the dress rehearsal, we couldn't stop if there was a problem, we just had to get through it and sort things out later.  Well, we got to the breakfast scene, the play was going like gangbusters and I'm talking away and buttering my brioche and pouring this stuff into my cup and drinking it.  It was delicious!!  After the show, I sought out the prop person and asked him about the stuff he put in the coffee pot.  I said to him, "What was that we were drinking in that coffee pot?"  He stared at me blankly for a long moment. I said, "It was delicious, what was that stuff that was supposed to be coffee?"  He kept staring at me ... then with a complete deadpan look that Buster Keaton would have admired, he replied, "Coffee" ...  I then realized I had never tasted coffee as an adult ... and this prop person must have thought I was an idiot.   Then he said, "Was it too hot?"   I said, "No, no, it was perfect. Thank you."   And I have been a coffee-drinker from that moment on.    A true story.  

     

     

     

     

     

     

     


    The immortal soul
    is not a person as much
    as what does not die.

    Our life is poorly equipped
    to examine the matter.


    Excellent, moat!!

     

    An immortal soul
    demands that you acknowledge
    heaven gets crowded.

     

     


    I thought Saint Peter
    kept entry a chancy thing.
    Reincarnate Now.


    Good one, moat!! 

    At Heaven's gate, will
    Saint Peter use Saltpeter,
    on Trump's libido?


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